


In Death

by ChelBlue



Category: Marble Hornets
Genre: Alternate Universe - Ghosts, Canon-Typical Violence, Gen, Spoilers for entry 86
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-05-05
Updated: 2020-05-05
Packaged: 2021-03-02 22:13:31
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,469
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24014170
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ChelBlue/pseuds/ChelBlue
Summary: Alex dies, but it's not over. In its own way it's a beginning.
Comments: 2
Kudos: 3





	In Death

Death was not something Alex had ever considered. Not recently enough for it to matter, anyway. And it seemed like a foolish oversight, now that he could feel his mouth filling with the taste of iron. All of his clever plans and long nights lying in wait and he had failed to think about the thing that he had anticipated would conclude his story. Even the most careful of minds, it seems, could fall prey to tunnel vision. 

It was on top of him now, death, choking him and holding him down, hoping he'd go out without a fight. He didn't. He fought, but the fight was done and the room was spinning now. White hugged the edges of Alex's vision and he thought for a moment that maybe It was there, watching him still. 

"This isn't over. You see how it spreads." he choked out, attempting to focus on the figure above him that was quickly becoming shapeless. He could hardly breathe and it felt a bit like drowning. No ark coming to save him, was there? He would die here and his tormentor would be left at large. An unsatisfying conclusion to a story he never liked much to begin with. But - it didn't have to end with him, did it? Tim could end this. He could end the mess *he* started." If there's someone left, you have to kill them, and then yourself." 

It felt good to say it aloud, to finally get to frame himself as the hero he was. He didn't want to do this. He didn't wake up one day with the desire to kill all his friends for light afternoon entertainment. None of this would have happened if it weren't for Tim, but that selfish bastard - he didn't get it. He was too selfish to get it. If he had just offed himself earlier or stayed away, Jay and Amy and Seth and everyone Alex loved would be alive. Alex wouldn't be bleeding out on the floor of an abandoned school. 

If was something Alex let himself think about a lot, more than death. If Tim had never come into their lives he would have finished Marble Hornets, and it would've won awards. He would be famous by now, even. He would be with Amy and they would have a cat who they would cuddle with at night while they watch some film Amy wouldn't care for but Alex would adore. Jay would be doing something great, too, and they would still be friends of course - Alex would never forget the little people. His vision has gone white and he's warm with rage. If Tim hadn't waltzed into their lives, they could have had a happy ending. They could have had life. If he hadn't, if he hadn't -. 

Then it's all gone. And Alex finds that death wasn't worth thinking about, not really. It's not really cold but it's not warm or inviting either. It's the emotional equivalent of a room temperature cup of water. Alex feels very little, he finds. When he first awakens it's on the same apathetic concrete he died on and his blood is still there, wet and presumably warm. His shirt should be clinging uncomfortably to him as it did in life, but it doesn't bother him if it is still doing what it should. His vision isn't bothered by the lack of glasses, either. 

Death is not so unlike a prolonged melancholy. What he feels is a little duller , sure, but to Alex it feels about the same. In fact, Alex thinks maybe he'd dreamed the whole thing. That he had survived. The thought is, of course, absurd. He can't feel the hole in his neck or the bruising that's just about everywhere he knows that isn't normal. His chest isn't rising and falling, either. He hasn't breathed in quite some time. He's rather dead and it's over. 

What now? he wondered, surveying the empty room. He had an eternity now, to do what? He stretched his arms and held a hand in front of him. Just a little see-through, like the movies. To haunt some school? To watch as more people fall prey to that Thing's influence? This did not seem to be the afterlife someone like him - someone who had sacrificed so much, who had killed those he loved and had to continue living knowing their blood was on his hands - deserved. No praise or reward for him, just stillness. No one to greet him either. He was as alone in death as he was in life. 

Before he got a chance to dwell on that despairing thought a cough ripped through the air, wet and rough. Alex sat a little straighter and looked towards the door. There he was, Tim in all his glory, coughing up a lung and crying. (Through all Alex had done, he had not cried. He had pressed onward. He had done what needed to be done. And now that Tim was tasked with ending this mess he broke down crying. It was pathetic. Alex hated him.)

Tim stumbled to his feet, nearly falling down the stairs in the process. Dried blood still decorated his arm and shirt. His hair still stuck flat to his head with sweat. Pathetic. He descended the stairs with the heaviest use of the hand rail until he was out of Alex's sight. 

Suddenly, Alex was boiling. His chest was tight and he *needed* to follow. Maybe that's what he was still here for, to encourage Tim to finish what Alex had started. He wouldn't do it otherwise, would he? Tim could hardly handle killing one person who he despised, so to kill the remaining few would be herculean to him. But Alex - Alex could make it happen, couldn't he? That's what he was here for. That must be why he was still here.

Alex shoved himself off the concrete and took off running after Tim. His footfalls did not echo throughout the building and Alex wasn't convinced his feet were really landing at all, but he was still moving and that's what mattered. It was like he was a boat letting the flow of the river guide him. He felt something pulling him after Tim just as much as his feet were pushing him towards him. Tim had barely managed to make it to the bottom of the stairwell when Alex caught up to him. He was leaning against the wall, still breathing heavy. Pathetic. 

"Hey." Alex spoke and Tim did not hear him. Tim looked down at the camera that had been returned to his grasp and sighed. Running a hand down his face he began to limp out of the building, not so much as glancing at Alex. "Hey!" he called again. Nothing. 

Alex tripped down the remaining stairs between him and found himself suspended in air rather than landing face first on the floor. Fuck! Now isn't the time to have to figure this out. Alex used a nearby wall to propel himself forward until he found that he was moving all on his own. So quickly, in fact, that flew straight through Tim.

Tim shivered, looking around with paranoia in his eyes for whatever had caused the sudden draft. He'd squared his shoulders, too; clearly on guard. Pathetic. All over a draft. But - this was something Alex could work with. Not yet though, not yet. He had to think this through, come up with a plan. This was important. This had to be done right, even if it had to be done by Tim the fuck up. Alex would see that it was. That's why he was here. His job wasn't done. He hadn't done enough. 

Alex followed Tim out to his car, figuring out the whole floating thing on the way. It was a lot of thinking to control it, but thankfully he was used to thinking. He's had a thought or two before. So by the time Tim's bent over his steering wheel and trying to even out his breathing, Alex has got the floating thing down to an art. More or less. It is with grace Alex lowers himself to the level of the passenger seat and floats through the door. It takes a bit of focusing but the seat is solid below him. 

Tim doesn't move for a while, mumbling to himself against the leather. Tragic. Pathetic. Tim wasn't the one who was dead. He wasn't the one condemned to having to help some selfish asshole finish what he had tried so hard to complete himself. He wasn't a meaningless casuality on the way to defeating that Thing. He was alive. He had a purpose and yet Tim sat there useless for what felt like hours.

Then, abruptly, he started the car and drove off.

**Author's Note:**

> Also posted on my tumblr, @WhoAmITheThird!  
> No editing - I wrote this at 3am for my ghost au (which there's more of on my tumblr!).   
> Hope this was enjoyable :)


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